


Topsy-Turvy

by Elphen



Series: Another Angle [2]
Category: Lewis (TV)
Genre: Angst and Humor, M/M, Vampires, hammer horror, stomach flu
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-09
Updated: 2012-02-09
Packaged: 2017-10-30 20:39:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/335825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elphen/pseuds/Elphen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a fall, you need to re-orientate yourself</p>
            </blockquote>





	Topsy-Turvy

**Author's Note:**

> So I did write a continuation. Turned out somewhat angsty again, but the thing honestly almost wrote itself, all I was there for was to tap the keys. Hope it does the other one justice. No betas, mistakes all mine.

It takes a lot for him not to call in sick on Monday. He actually does feel somewhat queasy, a churning in the pit of his gut that has been there ever since James left shortly after dinner on Saturday. A dinner which was passed in awkward that wasn’t helped by the fact that the blonde had put his dusty clothes in washing machine and then in the dryer and was forced to eat wearing only a towel around his waist while they dried. Lewis had offered him some of his own clothes, which had been politely, yet resolutely refused. The second dinner was finished and his clothes were dry, he’d been out the door, never once looking at Robbie.

It had been hard to pretend nothing had happened two days ago; it still is and he is dreading it. The worst part of it is that he doesn’t know what would be worse; that it had been a coincidence, an accident, and that would be it, never mentioned again, or that it was deliberate and a fancy of James’ – or perhaps it had been a bad joke gone wrong. He hopes not, because if it is, then Hathaway is a much more cruel man than any he’s ever met, murderers and Morse on his worst days included.

What Lewis really wants from all of this, he’s honestly not sure. He has surely never thought he’d get to be kissed by his sergeant, but ever since it happened, his mind has been going over and over it, hoping to at least get a clue as to the reason why it really happened and why he has reacted as he has. Sadly he has come up with no solid answer every single time so far and that both irritates and frightens him a bit. Not so much because he as a detective has an itch to know the reason, but mostly because there’s something important at stake and he honestly can’t afford to “blunder around”, as Morse called it, on this case. This is far too precious to take a wrong turn.

If his reads it as a mistake and it is not, he will be trampling all over Hathaway’s feelings, even if it’s just feelings of curiosity and fondness, and he really does not want to do that, of course he doesn’t. If he reads it as a mistake and it is, there is still the issue of how they work past it and how he will ever be able to forget it, to not think of it every so often – even though now it is pretty much all he can think about. If he reads it as intentional and it is not, he’ll be setting himself up not just for a major embarrassment and hurt should he ever broach the subject but a very difficult working relationship afterwards regardless of being silent about it thereafter or not. If he reads as intentional and it is...well, what then? He doesn’t know. He is slowly – inching his way along, honestly – beginning to know what he wants from this, at the bottom of his heart, even if it’s taken him a literal tumble to look at things at another angle, but even though he might be getting to the root of the matter...well, things like this are never just about one person’s wishes, are they?

He only just manages one hour at work, though. There’s no new case and they are forced to focus on the paperwork, so it isn’t as if it will really matter much, which is just as well. James is sitting with his back to him, intent on his screen, but he has for some strange reason got a pen in his mouth and is twirling it around in a way that could be either absentminded or intentional. His lips are pursed around the plastic cylinder and they move a bit from the blonde mouthing the words he’s reading and from the constant movement of the pen. Not once has he looked at Lewis since he came into work a good ten minutes late, all too-crisp shirt, horrible tie and well-cut suit as usual.

Nothing is different than usual, except everything is different from usual. Every little gesture has taken on a new meaning or at least a possibility thereof in Lewis’ mind and it is the _possibility_ without the certainty that is killing him. That and all the suggestive moves Hathaway has apparently always made without his boss noticing whatsoever.

When he stands up suddenly, knocking back his chair with a clatter, his sergeant does look up at him, staring straight at him with very blank expression that is so Deliberate Hathaway that Lewis’ stomach actually does a flip, landing back in his guts with a nauseating thump and he doubles slightly. Hathaway rises from his chair as well; his forehead wrinkling when he’s trying to gauge what is the matter with the older man. He takes a step forward but is waved away by a hand, so he stands with his arms dangling by his sides uselessly, hands clenching and unclenching.

Lewis straightens slowly and looks fleetingly at the blonde, not really meeting the other’s eye. “It’s okay, sergeant, I’m fine, really...I guess I’ve just caught a stomach flu or something. Or it was that bloody garlic bread I ate yesterday. In any case, it’s nothing that won’t be solved with a lie-down and some pills. You get on with the paperwork and I’ll go clear me going home with Innocent.” As he refuses to look at Hathaway’s face so as not to see what he fears and expects he will see, he completely misses the pained look that passes over the sergeant’s features. Instead Robbie keeps his back turned on the younger man, grabs his jacket and heads out of their office as fast as his churning stomach and unsteady legs will let him, closing the door behind him probably somewhat more roughly than he should. It bangs slightly as it hits the frame.

Hathaway is left staring at the wood of the closed door, arms still hanging down his sides. Useless. As always. He curses under his breath, then schools his face back into deadpan stone and goes back to his desk. Unconsciously he pops his pen back into his mouth when he is done writing on a piece of paper, even though there is now no-one to see or benefit from it. It even stays in during his research on the computer, his fingers too intent on dancing on the keyboard to find him exactly what he is looking for. It does come out, though, when he has all the facts he needs and just has to jot down the address. A quick glance at his reflection in the window to check he still looks calm and collected before he goes to face the fury that has hell looking like a fun fair.

 

 

Noon finds Lewis curled up on his sofa, blanket upon blanket wrapped around him in an attempt to convince himself that he really is suffering from a case of stomach flu that he has to get rid of and a mug of tea in his hand. The tea, which is a gift from Hathaway – he called it something like kookisa when he took it out of the bag and proceeded to place it in the cupboard next to the coffee as if there was no argument about it, Lewis seems to recall – has already long gone cold. So has the reheated lasagne on the coffee table, but he doesn’t have any appetite in any case. In all likelihood he’ll throw it right up if he evens manages to get anything down.

Blimey, what has he done? He’s walked out on Hathaway, that’s what. Oh, he did come up with the stomach flu excuse, but that was pretty pathetic, though Innocent seemed to have bought it – or she just saw how terrible he looked and decided to let him be – and his sergeant is anything but stupid – in fact too bloody clever by half, unfortunately – so he has to have figured out it has got something to do with him. Wonder whether he’ll think his boss off his rockers or worse – suspect that Lewis thinks a lot more of the whole tumble-kiss than he should or than there is to it. Gods, anything but that! He doesn’t want to face the embarrassment on his side and the polite withdrawal on Hathaway’s.

What would he have done if it had been his boss that he had found out liked him in the biblical sense? If he is honest with himself, he probably wouldn’t have been that averse to it. Not that he’d have cheated on Val with either man or woman, of course, or that Morse would have thought of him that way. Always the ladies man, for better or worse. But if he hadn’t been married and there had been a hint of something from Morse – well, perhaps there had been given the man’s dependence on him throughout the years, especially in that whole bloody Masonic thing, but it could be interpreted so many ways given that it was _Morse_ – well, things may have been different. But the old bugger never gave him the chance to find out, dying on him because he wouldn’t take care of himself, being the first to leave him behind.

Val had left him behind, too, but that hadn’t been her fault in any way, so there’s no way he can blame her. He doesn’t really blame Morse either. A fragile soul, really, behind all the gruffness, broken down bit by bit by a harsh reality that he tried to keep his ideals about in at least some ways and by his own cleverness. Very much like Hathaway in that respect, though Hathaway uses deadpan instead of gruffness. And they say education is good for you.

But the question of what to do with Hathaway remains. Lewis cannot avoid him indefinitely, but he has thought so much about this since The Incident – it’s ridiculous that it has acquired capital letters in his mind, but there you are – that he is not sure he can face the younger man any longer without bringing it up and ruining everything. Even if it goes well – and he has no idea what defines ‘well’ at the moment – what does he do? What does he want to do and what ought he to do?

Not that all these speculations amount to anything. He’s been round and round the same questions for hours, well days actually, without getting any further. What a horrible detective he makes. He can practically hear the long-suffering exclamation of his name when he’s being slow. _Yes, thank you sir, I’m aware that a Geordie miner’s son like me can’t always be as clever as an Oxford or Cambridge undergraduate, but I have my moments_.

He’s brought out of his musings a few hours later – well, technically he’s mused himself into a slumber, he’s not exactly young anymore – by a knocking on the front door. A very insistent, firm knocking. Groggily he looks at the clock and realises it’s almost four pm. The knocking doesn’t let up as he fumbles his way out of his cocoon of blankets, nearly knocking the lasagne off the table and onto the floor in his clumsiness, and staggers out through the hallway to the front door.

The face that greets him when he opens the door is long, pale, blue-eyed, chiselled and topped with blond locks. It also has a quiet determination imprinted on it and its owner – who has a long trench coat on that Robbie didn’t even know he owns, which is somewhat strange seeing as it’s May – pushes past him, not even bothering with a greeting.

Lewis stumbles backwards a bit from the force of the body pushing past, then stares at the back of his unexpected and slightly unwanted guest as it disappears into the living room. Once, twice he blinks and decides to follow into the living room and at least call his sergeant out on why he’s shown up here at a time when he should be at work or at least out with his mates, having a pint or something. All the other things that contribute to why James shouldn’t be here he neatly ignores for the moment.

“Hathaway, while I always appreciate your company, there really is no need for you to check up on me. It’s only a stomach bug; you will have me back and bothering you again tomorrow. I just need some rest.” He puts a slight emphasis on ‘rest’ to indicate that in order to rest, he needs to be alone. The blonde nods at that, but does not move from where he’s standing hunched over the coffee table, unloading the contents of the shopping bag he’s brought.

“I know that, sir. But somebody clever once told me something very useful; that we always get better quicker when there’s someone there to care for us. I’ve got some Pepto-Bismol, as the girl at the pharmacist suggested it for stomach flu, and some soup that should ease your stomach. I would have made it from scratch, but if you’re suffering from diarrhea, we’d better get some nutrients inside you as fast as possible. I’m pleased to see you’ve kept yourself warm and had some fluids.” He nods at the blankets and at the mug of tea, apparently oblivious to the fact that the tea is almost untouched. “Now, if you’d be so kind as to crawl back under those blankets, I’ll go and heat up this soup. I hope you like lentil soup, it’s my favourite.” With that, he disappears into the kitchen and the inspector is once again left with his mouth open and without a clue as to what is going on, his detective skills as useful as a bicycle is to a mackerel when it comes to James Hathaway.

Lewis crawls back under the blankets, keen not to upset Hathaway more than necessary – he’s apparently cross about _something_ given his very British behaviour – and why does he adopt a stiffer upper lip when he’s upset, anyway? – and if Robbie is to broach the subject of The Incident, he does not need a pissed off Hathaway to start it off with.

When he’s settled into his still-warm cocoon again, he notices that medicine and soup isn’t the only things James have brought along. A square shape is still visible sitting inside the plastic bag. Curiosity getting the better of him, he reaches in and pulls out what turns out to be a rather large DVD box set. A box set that proudly proclaims to be The Hammer Collection. There’s a little note stuck to it with Hathaway’s handwriting on it, too, saying “Remember to see the Christopher Lee movies”, for some reason.

Why has he brought this along? By all accounts, his sergeant has never professed any love of old horror movies and neither has Lewis, so it’s a little strange for him to have taken it along. Not only that, it looks brand new.

A noise makes him look up and his mouth falls open all on its own accord. There is James, standing with two bowls of steaming lentil soup, clad in nothing but a purple towel wrapped securely around his waist.

**Author's Note:**

> I did try to do my homework on this one - Pepto-Bismol is supposedly good for when you've got stomach flu (never had it) and the Hammer Horror box does exist. If you don't know why James have noted the Christopher Lee movies, then shame on you.  
> The lentil soup - I seem to recall Lewis saying "my favourite" in another fic here, so I thought I'd write it in, sorta. The tea Lewis have let go cold is actually Kukicha tea, a Japanese twig tea that is very full and earthy - in a good way, IMHO.  
> I know Morse didn't technically graduate from Oxford, but bear with me.


End file.
